


Midnight Stories

by Espisayer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Animal Death, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer
Summary: Three tales of two boys, neighbors bonding as children from broken homes. Gilbert likes to invent stories and has a surprising knack for saying the right thing at the right time, even if it only helps for a moment.Alternate names used for Russia and Germany (Aleksandr and Heinrich). Strong language. Germany and Nyo!Germany are both present as twins.





	1. The Headless Horseman

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write Russia and Prussia differently than you typically see in the fandom. If you want more information, I made a detailed post about it on tumblr here: https://espisayer-hetalia.tumblr.com/post/181402345153/my-characterizations-russia-prussia

-8 years old-

Gilbert lived with his younger twin siblings and their father on the edge of town, enclosed by the woods. There was no actual road to their house and the trees hung over on the way like they were reaching out for unsuspecting passerby.

Ghost stories abounded. People were also afraid of his father, who was known for getting into bar fights and getting thrown in jail for assault. His lack of an honorable discharge from the military didn’t help anything. Safe to say, their little shack of a home was not somewhere many ventured.

So a knock on the door at midnight was more than a little disconcerting. Gilbert sat straight up from the bed, waking his 5-year-old siblings.

“Who’s that?” Heinrich mumbled, half-asleep.

“Is Father home?” Krimhilde wondered.

“He wouldn’t be knocking at the door,” Gilbert told them, unsettled. They all became silent for another moment.

The knocking, quiet but deliberate, continued. Gilbert had to get out of bed and check it out―whoever or whatever it was. Krimhilde reached out for him after he climbed over them, out of bed, and pleaded, “Brother, wait, it’s not safe...”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he promised, patting her hand and trying to calm them with a smile. “I’ll be back in two minutes! You two stay there.”

On the way out of their room, he grabbed a rusty bat they kept in the hallway. It was pitch-black outside, the dead of winter, so he wasn’t counting on being able to see outside if he dared to peek through the curtains.

The knocking grew silent by the time he walked to the door... which took too long considering their house was so small. He didn’t know why it spooked him so much; it wasn’t like he believed in ghost stories.

Maybe in an over-dramatic effort to prove to himself he wasn’t scared, Gilbert swung the door open with the bat raised.

He was met with the terrified, violet eyes of a child who gasped at Gilbert’s approach and fell backwards into the snow.

“Wh-What the f...” Gilbert froze in shock. What was a child doing out here?! “Who are you?!”

The boy, quivering and tearful, clutched his scarf with reddened, bare hands and gaped at Gilbert before he tried to answer. “I... I’m... I’m s-sorry...”

Stalling at the near-sobbing of a kid at their doorstep, it took Gilbert a moment to think of tossing the bat aside. (The loud clang made the boy flinch.) But... now what? “Uh... I, uhm... Scheiße!”

If someone found one of his siblings out in the middle of the night (for only God-knew what reason) while it was below 0, he hoped someone wouldn’t just let them freeze to death, so Gilbert made a snap decision to help the strange, startled boy, taking his hand and pulling him off the ground to lead him into the house. “Y-your hand is cold!” he said, jittery and maybe dragging the boy a little bit. “You’re freezing, right?!”

The boy was several times more nervous, stammering and stumbling along. “Uhm... I... Y-Yeah...” He had a coat, but it looked worn and thin. He was shivering. Gilbert sat him down on the couch and then threw a blanket on him. The boy stared at him with confusion, tears still running down his face.

Gilbert had no idea what he was going to do with this kid, but he hated seeing people cry. He wiped the corners of the boy’s eyes, while asking, “So―what are you doing out here?! Are you crazy? What’s your name?”

Blinking, and looking embarrassed, the boy replied, “A... Aleksandr. I... uhm...” He struggled to finish the answer while Gilbert was fussing, so he stopped after readjusting the blanket around his shoulders. “I... Th-thought... this was... my house...”

“Uh... what?” Wait. Suddenly something clicked. This kid―Aleksandr had a distinct accent. “Oh! You’re one 'a the Russians that moved into that old house in the woods!” It wasn’t like his father would shut up about it, how the Russians were going to “ruin everything”. Aleksandr nodded meekly, and Gilbert asked, “You know what time it is, right?! How did you get lost?”

“Uhm...” He fidgeted and picked at his pant legs. “M-My... father f-forgot to pick me up from school... And I... I don’t know where I’m going...” Aleksandr sniffled. “It’s... dark... I... I’m sorry...”

Forgot to pick him up from school? It took Gilbert’s tired brain a moment to piece that together. So he’d been on his own, wandering around town for hours? That pissed Gilbert off. But Aleksandr looked like he was going to start crying again, so he ruffled his hair and said, “H-Hey, it’s alright.” Even though it wasn’t. “Uhm... You could... stay here for the night! I’ll take you back home in the morning.”

“Huhn... R-Really?” He blinked out a few more tears while relief washed over his face. He must not have wanted to go home that badly, Gilbert thought. “It’s... okay with your parents?”

“Ah... My old man ain’t gonna be back until the day after next.” Because he was in jail. “So no problem!”

This was the only thing he could think to help this kid. Gilbert didn’t want to try to find their house in the dark and then risk setting his father off by showing up at midnight.

Call it a sneaking suspicion that that would set his father off. Aleksandr certainly seemed grateful, hugging Gilbert tightly. “Spasibo...”

“Uh... you’re welcome?” Gilbert guessed, after a pause, then wiping his face off for hopefully the last time that night. “Hey, go ahead and lay down. I’ll be right back.”

“Erm... O-Okay...”

He left Aleksandr to calm down while he checked on his siblings―he didn’t expect them to be in the hallway. “Hey! I told you two to stay put!”

“Will he be okay?” Krimhilde asked, as they were both visibly worried.

“Ja, ja, he’ll be fine. Go back to bed,” he said, pushing them along.

Heinrich had other concerns, though, saying, “Father’s going to be angry if he finds out...”

“Well, he won’t. It ain’t a big deal.” It was really a strange situation, though, if he thought about it. But he couldn’t kick Aleksandr out. “I’ll take care of it, I promise! Go on, it’s too late for you two!”

“But―”

“Bed!”

He put them back in bed and made them promise not to get up again unless they were too cold or needed something. He gave them extra blankets from their father’s room and kissed them goodnight before heading back to take care of Aleksandr. It would be no sweat for him, since he had to watch Heinrich and Krimhilde all the time, anyway.

Though, despite it being after midnight, Aleksandr didn’t seem like he was going to fall asleep easily. That was apparent after about 30 minutes; he didn’t seem drowsy at all.

Maybe a mindless story would help. “Hey. Did you hear the story about the headless horseman that wanders around out here?”

Aleksandr stared at him for a moment, with surprise and trepidation. “The... what? Here?”

“Ja. ‘Cept you don’t gotta worry about him. He’s stupid as shit,” Gilbert said, grinning after Aleksandr snorted and covered his mouth. “His wife left him ‘cause all he does is wander out in the forest lookin’ for a magical stream of beer. ‘Cept he can’t drink from it even if he finds it, ‘cause he doesn’t have a head.”

He won a smile out of Aleksandr, though he said, “That’s... not a real story...”

“No, I swear it is!” Gilbert said. “Trust me, I know him. And, you know, since he doesn’t have a head, he bumps into people and gets into fights all the time. Then they throw him in the brig. The section for Dummkopfs.”

“Uhm... S-So how did he lose his head...?”

“Oh, that. Well, he throws temper tantrums. Mostly at his oldest kid. One day, he got so angry that his head just―boom!―exploded,” he said, throwing his arms out. “He’s such a drunk that beer’s the only thing that calms him down.”

“But he has no head... so... that will never happen...”

“Right! He’s just gonna be a giant ball of anger the rest ‘a his life. ‘Till he croaks. Oh, ja, he looks like a frog, too. Or, well, he did until he lost his head.”

Aleksandr laughed silently through his nose, murmuring, “Do you have any more stories about him?”

“Sure I do.”

And now that Aleksandr had calmed down, he already looked sleepy. Gilbert could talk all night until he finally fell asleep.


	2. The Troll King

_-12 years old-_

Two rickety old houses sat on the edge of town housing a pair of broken families. Each held three children, each held no mother, and each held foreigners; both houses, altogether, had been alienated from the rest of town for a combination of those qualities. That was aside from the eerie woods that enclosed both of the houses.

Not that it mattered to Gilbert. He would’ve been just as alienated in Germany, if not for everything else then for his white hair and red eyes. As long as he and his siblings had enough scraps to survive, and he kept the few friends he had now, he was good.

A mishap caused by yet another shitty father of the world had put Aleksandr on his doorstep, but it worked out for the better. By now they were best friends. The once-lost Russian boy spent quite a lot of time at Gilbert’s house, sometimes quite late if Dietrich wasn’t home.

Like tonight.

“You know,” Gilbert was saying as they were laying on the floor in front of the cheap fireplace, “you have a really bad habit of stayin’ over until midnight. Or later.”

“Hm... Yes?” was all Aleksandr said, looking at his friend inquisitively while he absently picked at the rug. “After four years, it’s suddenly a bad habit?”

Gilbert sat up with an exhale, raising an eyebrow at him. “Nah, but, I mean, when I have no damn idea when Dietrich is comin’ home, it is.”

“You said it’ll probably be Saturday.”

“Yeah, but that’s bettin’ on  _his_ word!” Gilbert reminded him, snorting. “You know what that’s worth. Seriously, though, I don’t wanna take the chance.”

Aleksandr sat up, too, but said with an unbothered smile, “I’m not scared of your father. I’ve had to sneak out before.”

"Hah. You’re not thinkin’ this though―I think you picked up some bad habits ‘a mine,” Gilbert scoffed. “You might not be scared of Dietrich, but you know you’re gonna regret it if this gets back to  _your_  old man.”

At that, Aleksandr fell silent, and they both knew Gilbert had won the argument. He stood up and took Aleksandr with him, pulling him along toward the front door.

When he had his pair of gloves and hat thrown at him, Aleksandr sighed and remarked, “It seems counterproductive to send me home, then, doesn’t it...?”

“Hey...” Gilbert frowned. “It’s not funny. Don’t make me feel guilty.” He clicked his tongue after they walked out the door. “The hell do you make  _me_ feel like the serious one half the time?”

He was used to Aleksandr’s ups and downs, though. He could be smiling and mischievous one day, quiet and depressed the next day. They never had any explicit conversation about anything that happened at Aleksandr’s house, but... a bruise told a story on its own.

If Gilbert  showed any awareness of his problems, though, Aleksandr would do everything to brush past it or distract from the conversation. Sometimes he got a little carried away, like tonight, getting sidetracked while they were walking to his home.

“Hey, where’re ya goin’?” Gilbert called out after his friend ducked behind some trees. “Aleksandr? Damn it, it’s dark!”

“Gilbert, come look!”

After wading through some hibernating and unforgiving shrugs, (and cursing) Gilbert found him sitting in the snow, having taken his scarf off to bundle a white baby rabbit. “Wh... How did you―? You... got some damn good eyesight!”

“I don’t see a burrow anywhere,” Aleksandr said, holding it against his chest. “It’ll die out here, won’t it?”

“Probably, it’s cold as hell.” Gilbert knelt down beside him to get a better look at it. The rabbit held its ears back but didn’t seem to be in distress. He wondered how it was still alive if it had gotten stranded. “Okay, so... What are we gonna do? The last time Dietrich let me have a pet, he got a 15-year-old shepherd from the pound and it died in two weeks. And I really doubt Kazimir would...”

Looking a little too hopeful, Aleksandr shook his head and told him, “I used to have a pet rabbit.”

“What? When?”

“When I was 5, I think. It got out of the house and we could never find it again...”

“Oh. Well...” He was naive, wanting to take a wild rabbit home. But... it was hard for Gilbert to burst his bubble when he found something to look forward to. (Hence why he always stayed over so late.) He just couldn’t imagine Kazimir going for this if he found out. And that could be bad. “I-I dunno.  _Maybe_ you could keep it.”

Aleksandr smiled as they stood up. “You think so?” 

Gilbert felt like he was making a bad call, but said, “Uh, just... talk to Anya when you get back.” His sisters always waited up for him, thank God...

“I will.”

The smallest things could make Aleksandr happy. The smallest things could also upset him. Gilbert never truly knew what went on in his head, but he probably understood him more than anyone else, aside from his sisters. A pet, God help him to keep it safe, would be good for him.

“Mh... What should I name it? It reminds me of you.”

“Eh?” Gilbert paused, blinking at him. “How’s _that?_ What,‘cause it’s albino?! Don’t be a smartass!”

“I... didn’t mean it like that” He smiled innocently and said, “It’s cute.”

“Uh...” A prime example of not understanding this kid. Gilbert stared at him, incredulous and having no clue how serious he was. After Aleksandr snorted and started giggling, though, he growled and pinched his ear, “ _Cute?_  Aleksandr, I am not  _cute!_ You hear me?”

“Ah! S-Sure... Whatever you say...!”

He tried to squirm away, but Gilbert grabbed his cheeks and held him there, imposing and stressing, “ _Listen_ , buddy, I ain’t cute! Got that? I ain’t small and fluffy like a goddamn bunny, right?” Aleksandr continued to snicker at him, though. “Hey!  _I_ am awesome.  _You_ are cute. I mean―shit, you’re taller than I am, now, but’cha got fluffy hair and ya kinda look like a doe sometimes.”

Like now. And it was accompanied by a growing blush, so Gilbert felt pretty satisfied with himself, snickering back at him and ruffling his head. He turned Aleksandr around to keep walking him home.

The rest of the way wasn’t nearly as eventful, and Aleksandr had grown quiet, until they reached the house. He didn’t seem upset, as far as Gilbert could tell... just bashful. Which wasn’t unusual.

“Uhm... Gilbert?” Aleksandr said quietly as they came to a stop.

“Yep?”

He glanced between Gilbert and the bundle in his arms a few times, opening his mouth and closing it before he shied away and shook his head. “Uh... nothing. I’ll, uhm, see you at school tomorrow.”

Gilbert tilted his head, “You sure? You’re okay an’ everything?”

“Y-Yeah. Ah... Dobroy nochi...”

“Well... okay. Gute Nacht.”

Friday, Saturday passed, and Gilbert didn’t hear much from his neighbor, which meant their father was probably going to be home all weekend. Supposedly Kazimir worked several jobs, and didn’t keep them all, so his hours were unpredictable.

Even worse than his own father, who at least had a steady job and took extra shifts, if he wasn’t drinking until 5:00 in the morning... The more he was gone, the better, though.

He wished he was gone tonight. Because his hope that everything would be alright with Aleksandr in the meantime was incinerated when he heard rapid tapping on his bedroom window.

He had a flashback to four years ago, as Heinrich and Krimhilde jolted upright with him. (They really needed their own rooms.)

“What’s going on now?” Heinrich grumbled. “Is it Aleksandr again? Why does he come here this late?”

Krimhilde then chimed in, “Father’s home! Doesn’t he know that?”

“Scheiße! He knows it, now both of you shut up!” Gilbert threw his comforter off and stepped quietly over to the window. “And stay put!” he hissed, before sliding it open and crawling out like it was nothing.

Yes, Aleksandr had done this before, but only this suddenly and late because something was wrong. Gilbert wasn’t surprised to find him standing outside the window with tears streaming down his face and red eyes.

After procedurally shutting the window, Gilbert checked Aleksandr―and cursed when he found blood on his hands. “Are you okay...?!” he asked, his whisper a hiss while he fussed. “What the fuck happened? What did he do?”

“H... He...” Aleksandr stood limply and stared at his shaky hands while Gilbert held his wrists, watching tears fall into his palms. “He killed it,” he finally said, squeezing his eyes shut while he held back a sob. “He... st-stomped... and... it... There was... blood... all over the floor...”

Gilbert was too disturbed to ask Aleksandr why he had sought him out instead of staying with his sisters. Maybe because they’d found it together and he’d encouraged it...? Fuck... He knew that was a bad idea...

Aleksandr seemed shaky on his feet, so Gilbert made him sit on the ground. Though he beat Gilbert to the hug and clutched the back of his shirt, crying into his shoulder. And sobbed until he could speak coherently. “I can still... hear the bones crunch... wh-when I try to sleep...”

“Fuck...” One more persistent nightmare to have. The thing was, there was no kind of logic that would make him feel better. And... Gilbert wasn’t the best with “comforting” words. Besides, his friend would just have to go back his shit “father” it in the end. All Gilbert could do was distract him for a bit; he had a talent for talking out of his ass, enough for three people, and this was the best use for it.

He always felt like shit that he couldn’t help more than that. But it was what he had at the moment. “Say... Did... I tell you the one about the troll king yet?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Uhm... N... No...”

“Ja, so... he’s even more hideous than the headless horseman. Though, it’s not really a fair contest when you don’t have a head, is it? Anyway. He sits under his bridge out in the middle ‘a the woods to keep people from his cave. Not that people wanna come by there in the first place, but he’s kinda off his rocker, if you know what I mean.”

“How... off his rocker...?” Aleksandr asked―clearly, by his sullen voice he wasn’t overly invested in the story, but that wasn’t the point. He was at least listening, so he was distracted in some manner.

“Uh, like, he talks to himself an’ shit. Oh... and he thinks he has three kids. But there’s no way those kids are his, because he’s way too hideous to have, uhh... been... a part of that.”

“Been a part of... what?”

“Uh...” Gilbert snorted. “Think about it for a second?”

There was a definite pause, but the moment he figured it out was marked by pulling back from Gilbert and thumping him on the chest. He looked uncomfortable and slightly disgusted. “You―ugh... You think I d-don’t know you’re talking about my father, Gilbert. Don’t... make me think about that...!” he whined.

Gilbert got a snicker out of it, though, if just for the look on his face. “Hey, it was a little funny.”

“N-No, it wasn’t.” Aleksandr went to wipe one of his eyes before he remembered he had blood on them...

He needed to bring the story back from the detour. Gilbert wiped his face for him and said, “Well, whatever happened, the kids are lucky they don’t look like him... They must’ve had a real pretty mom.”

Duly distracted now, Aleksandr’s face flushed and he squirmed around, looking at his feet. Gilbert smiled―that worked like a charm. It was tempting to tease him some more, but this wasn’t really the right time to push his luck. “But... you know the brother’s the one keeping everybody together, right? His sisters are hopeless.”

Pausing, he blinked at Gilbert, not knowing what to say. “A-Ah...”

“The troll king makes him feel like shit most of the time, but he’s a lot stronger than he thinks he is,” he said, poking him in the chest. “One day he’ll come out on top. One way or another. Trust me.”

Aleksandr stared at Gilbert for a long moment, easing away into a somber expression. His gaze dropped as he wiped his face on his sleeve one last time. “Thank you... Gilbert...”

“What’re ya thankin’ me for?” he grinned. “It was just a story.”

“Erm...” He smiled very faintly. “Sure... ...Whatever you say...”

That faint smile was something of a miracle, considering. Maybe he was better at this than he thought he was. His siblings probably thought he was crazy, but he would never abandon anyone who needed him.


	3. The Hopeless Prince

**_-16 years old-_ **

Two houses sat out in the woods, growing older and more disheveled by the years. Many were shocked that the little shacks were still standing, after enduring many a hard winter and freezing rain showers. That was beside the troll king and the headless horseman that patrolled the woods, keeping the ghost stories alive and keeping the humans out of their territory.

However, the horseman had grown weary over time. Anger and greed for alcohol had worn him down by age. For several years he’d given up on his patrols in preference of the old sofa that smelled like smoke and must.

In turn, Gilbert had started his own nightly patrol. It started in the late evening whenever he pried cigarettes and booze bottles out of the Dietrich’s comatose hands that hung halfway from the floor. Then he made sure there weren’t any bills piling up on the entryway table―taking money out of his wallet if necessary.

He would end the night checking in on his brother and sister, 13 years old or not; he had been filling the roles of both their parents for so long now that it was ingrained into his being. Dietrich was mostly just dead weight that brought a few bucks home when he felt like dragging his ass out of the house.

In contrast, the troll king still patrolled the woods with ferocity. Kazimir’s mood swings only got worse every year. The old jackass hated Dietrich and his family with a passion, and ever since their boys had turned 13 he had tried to do everything he could to keep them apart.

Sometimes Kazimir would take his patrols directly to Dietrich’s house. And Gilbert always had to open the door because the old fuck never went away.

He never failed to take a weapon with him, though. “The fuck do you want?” Gilbert droned, glaring at his smoke-worn, alcoholic, crusted face and balancing their old metal bat on his shoulder.

Kazimir, much taller, peered over his head with narrowed, crinkled eyes before matching that scarlet-eyed look of disgust. “Where is he?” he asked, monotone with a heavy accent.

“He ain’t here,” Gilbert said tersely. He tried to shut the door in Kazimir’s face. ...It never worked, but it was worth a shot.

The door was halted by his dry, muddy boot, his eyes bright with anger―it sure was something against his dead face. “Do not play games with me. He is always here. He follows you around like a simpering dog.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gilbert bit the inside of his gums and exhaled through his nose, violently trying to resist the urge to tell him to fuck off. “I don’t know what to tell ya―fuck, he’s almost 200 centimeters tall. It’s not like I can hide him anywhere!”

“You are a liar,” Kazimir hissed, and they had a struggle for power over the door. “You don’t think I know what kinds of disgusting things you two are doing?!”

Grinding his teeth, Gilbert braced one hand on the door and gripped the bat tightly with his left. “ _Bitch_ , put one foot in the door and give me a reason to beat your fucking brains out! _I dare you!_ ”

“ _You little rodent, I’m going to―_ ”

Kazimir’s bellowing was interrupted by another from the living room, “Kolosov, your brat’s not here! Go home! You’re trespassing!”

As Kazimir was transitioning into his next wave of anger, Gilbert took the opportunity to finally slam the door in his face, locking and bolting the door shut. Still carrying the bat, he marched back in toward the living room and commented, “Wow, so the Führer was good for something after all?”

“Don’t push your luck, boy,” Dietrich grumbled, sinking back into the couch with an exhausted groan. After settling for a bit, he asked, sounding half-interested in an answer, “So,  _is_ Aleksandr here or not?”

“No,” Gilbert scoffed. He would’ve given Dietrich points for butting in when he didn’t know that in the first place, but he hadn’t done it out of any special concern. (He just hated Kazimir.) “I’m goin’ out to look for him, though. Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”

“Gilbert!”

That also wasn’t out of concern. “Sorry, I dumped all your booze out. Better luck next time!” He didn’t stop on his way to the back door, keeping the bat handy, and walked out without listening to whatever bull Dietrich would spurt out next.

He knew exactly where Aleksandr was. It would be a trek, deep out into the woods where the trees were so tall and clustered that it always seemed like the dead of midnight. Perfect for someone looking for solitude and silence...

But silence was one thing: solitude was another. Aleksandr was shy, but he was no loner. Being alone only ever made him depressed. Knowing that, Gilbert missed the frequency of his middle-of-the-night visits... It was an escape. A necessary one.

Aleksandr seemed to lack a sense of self-preservation, coming all the way out here and getting dusted underneath the trees with freezing rain. “Aleksandr,  _come on_ , we’ve talked about this!” Gilbert said, announcing himself as he found his friend peeking at him around one of the trees. “The role of ‘stoic, brooding man’ has been taken by Heinrich for years, and it doesn’t suit you very well!”

“Ah... Gilbert...” Aleksandr blinked as Gilbert’s jacket was dropped on his head. He didn’t seem to know what to say while Gilbert dropped down next to him. He ended up asking, “Why did you bring the bat...?”

“Because Satan showed up at my door looking for you,” he replied. “Speaking of which... why  _aren’t_ you there? Why are you out here in the rain? I hate it when you do this.”

Frowning with guilt, Aleksandr lowered his head after a moment and pulled his knees in. “I’m sorry... If I... just would’ve been more careful, then he wouldn’t come anywhere near your house...”

“That’s what I have the bat for!” Gilbert insisted, waving it around for show; but Aleksandr wasn’t amused or watching him fool around, so he ultimately sighed and dropped it with a hollow thud. “Come on. He would’ve found out any way you slice it. Plus, he’s been comin’ around for a few years now... so what are you really upset about?”

He didn’t receive a reply for a bit, and the persistent sound of the icy rain spraying the trees alone was giving Gilbert a chill. “You know,” he said, nudging closer and leaning forward to level with him, “you might be built iceproof, Schatzi, but I’m not. Talk to me, damn it.”

After a long stall, Aleksandr murmured, voice wavering, “We’re moving back to Russia.”

Thoughts stopping in their tracks, Gilbert stared at him―rather, the fringe of his hair that had fallen out from under the jacket. Why the hell would they be moving back all of the sudden?! “You’re shittin’ me, right?”

Solemnly, he slowly shook his head. “No. He told us this morning...”

“You can’t move back!” Instantaneously the cold was forgotten to Gilbert’s outrage. “Nobody over there’s gonna have your back like I do!”

“He already bought tickets,” Aleksandr pointed out, words dripping with bleakness that sounded like they would soon be followed by tears. “We only have two days left here...”

“No! He’ll... You’ll... Fuck no! You’re not going anywhere!”

“You act like I have a choice,” Aleksandr said weakly, eyes dark and wet as he lifted his head.

“You do have a fucking choice if I have anything to say about it,” Gilbert growled. “Fuck, let’s just go shoot his head off and bury him in the woods!”

“Gilbert, please stop!”

The heightened emotions were making the air feel heavy, as if it needed that over the humidity. Gilbert wiped Aleksandr’s cheeks off, making him blush and complain, “St―I’m too old for that...”

“I’m not gonna sit and watch you cry,” Gilbert snapped. “Or let this happen. Anya’s 21, right? Why can’t  _she_  take you and Natalia? Why hasn’t  _that_ happened yet?!”

“Kazimir will never let that happen,” Aleksandr said grimly, pulling Gilbert’s hands off his face. “He would kill us first...”

“Fuck...” Gilbert didn’t let him pull back completely, holding his hands firmly. “Then we’ll all just... We’ll fucking run away!”

Aleksandr’s eyes widened and bore through him. “You... R-Run...? That’s... That’s insane...! Please tell me you’re not―”

“Ja, I’m serious as hell! Let’s do it!” As Aleksandr was left speechless, Gilbert lost some of his anger to excitement at the notion, grinning. “Me an’ you, Schatzi―and Anya, Natalia, Heinrich, and Krimhilde. We’ll all just get the fuck outta here. We could pull it off! My old man’s probably got money stashed around the house. I can probably find somethin’ to sell―”

He stopped when Aleksandr clamped a hand over his mouth. It was extremely silent for a moment while they stared each other down in a mix of emotions. “Have you... completely lost your mind...?” Aleksandr asked, so quietly that the rustling trees almost drowned him out.

Possibly, Gilbert mused. He removed his friend’s hand and entwined their fingers. “Crazy enough to work, ja? And I think it’d be an awesome ending to a story, too.”

Frowning and shaking his head, Aleksandr was too downhearted to be in such a story-time kind of mood. He sighed a heavy, shaky breath. “Gilbert... No... That would never...”

“No, no, listen. It goes like this,” he started. “The horseman, he’s outta commission, right? He finally figured out he didn’t need a magic stream or a head, he can just keep a stash at home and dump it down his gullet. But, the troll king―that crack of Satan’s ass is worse than ever, putting his kids through hell, being a fucking bigot; and now he’s freaked out ‘cause the horseman’s kid is tryin’ to put the moves on his only son.”

Again, Aleksandr stared, longer this time, while he gradually flushed. Again. “What are you... Wh-What did he say to you...?” He sounded apprehensive.

“Not important. The prince, though, he’s kind of a dunce,” Gilbert said, smiling lopsided and poking him in the forehead. “’Cause, well, the horseman’s kid has been droppin’ hints for... years... Oh, and he trusts the horseman’s son  _way too much_  to take his word that ‘Schatzi’ is like any old platonic nickname in Germany.”

There were a few moments of nothing but rain spattering, while all that settled between them. Until his childhood friend had a minor panic attack, jerking back and exclaiming, “ _Eh?!_ What the hell have you been calling me, then, Gilbert?!”

Gilbert started cackling, “ _Damn,_  you’re oblivious! It's so fucking cute!”

“You  _have_  lost your mind!” Aleksandr cried. His voice had raised a few octaves, and his face several shades deeper red―probably forgotten all about “the plan” at the moment. 

Catching him by the scarf before he backed up any more, Gilbert paid their personal space no mind as he ducked under the jacket with him and stared him right in his violet eyes to say, “C’mon, let’s run away together! You know you want to.” Though, he did snort, “I mean, we’ll have the peanut gallery, so it’s not a perfect ending, but I don’t think we can shoot for one ‘a those.”

Aleksandr’s eyes had softened from the shock, but he was still struggling with what emotion to pick here; it was like someone hit him over the head with a brick. Several of them. “I... H... How...”

“We’ll figure it out together. You think too much. So... don’t.”

He ended the argument then and there by kissing Aleksandr on the lips. And... Aleksandr let him.

Sitting at the base of an old tree, deep in the woods where it was always midnight and having nothing but the elongated branches, overgrowth, and a jacket to shield them from the spitting, frigid rain wasn’t the best place to solve your dire problems of life, or the most romantic place to have your first kiss... Or maybe it was. Or maybe you wouldn’t care about something like that.

Gilbert and Aleksandr, two very different people from very similarly broken homes, didn’t. They didn’t get much out of life and learned to take what they could get, make something out of what they did have.

Starting fresh, leaving the bad parts behind, would be the best way to close the chapter on that story of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally when I had a vague idea of brief transitions of Gilbert telling wild stories as they got older, I didn't expect to have three chapters' worth of writing! (Even if they're a little short on their own.) It's a good example of how I have difficulty writing anything short or without much plot. But I had a lot of fun writing this story.
> 
> Fun fact: When I originally posted this last chapter on Tumblr, ironically, it was at midnight and I didn't even realize it until after the fact.


End file.
